The Original Siamese Twins — Poetry by Shevaun Brannigan

The sternum. Flat bone fused.
Their arms hold
each other tight, like
applying pressure to a wound.

Their shirts blear white.
They are small footed,
like deer.
Of course, a question of sex.

Did Chang close his eyes, did
Eng feel insecure,
did the women like it?

Retreating.

In bed, whose heart to hurt
as they lie
left? Chang
had a temper

like a cat
he let out in the neighborhood.
They held on to grudges
like handles of hammers.

Pay a nickel to watch them
read. They are not
tired, yet. They are as proud
of each other as parents.

May I present Chang
presenting Eng presenting
Chang? One of them
carries a switchblade

in his pocket.
It won’t cut through
bone. So let us
age them.

Let their bellies grow, their hair
gray, their spines
sink in and
slope.

Chang pulls away from Eng
over the years. His arm is slack
at their side. Their wives bicker
like Pomeranians.

The circus music
becomes tinny. And today,
Chang closes his eyes.
Feel the blood clot.

See Eng wake
to the corpse he now carries.
Feel the blood rush
from Eng

like a crowd told
the circus tent is collapsing.

~ ~ ~

Shevaun Brannigan is a graduate of the Bennington Writing Seminars, as well as The Jimenez-Porter Writers’ House at The University of Maryland. She has had poems appear in such journals as Best New Poets 2012, Lumina, Rhino, Court Green, and Free State Review. She has been an Arts & Letters Poetry Prize finalist, received an honorable mention in So to Speak’s 2012 Poetry Contest, as well as a Pushcart nomination by Rattle. Her favorite poetry writing gig is the workshops she leads at her local Domestic Violence Shelter. You can learn more about Shevaun at http://shevaunbrannigan.wordpress.com.